Constellation Prize
by Whatclaptrap
Summary: It's been five years since that summer. It's been five years since Dipper vanished. Mabel doesn't like to talk about it, and she doesn't think about it much. What can you say about losing your other half? But now she's having dreams. Really weird dreams. And despite herself, she feels like it might have something to do with that summer up in Gravity Falls...(A/U)
1. The One at the Start

It had been five years.

Five years since she and her brother had stayed the summer in Gravity Falls, Oregon. On the dot. She'd crossed out the day on the calendar over her bed when she had woken up, and then she had stared at the empty bed across from hers.

Five years might have been a long time, but when you'd had someone by your side for the first twelve years of your life, five years of their absence felt like forever.

Her parents did her best to cheer her up, but they tactfully didn't say why they bothered making dinosaur-shaped pancakes that morning, or why there had been whipped cream and sprinkles all over her morning mocha. Mabel appreciated the gestures, even if they didn't do much. They'd stopped going to the graveyard two years ago, and now the only thing marking this day was her calendar and the general quietness of their household.

They didn't talk about it. Which had been fine for the first couple of years. Mabel never wanted to talk about it. She never went back to Gravity Falls, either, but she wrote letters to Grunkle Stan as often as she could. She knew it wasn't his fault, even if her parents frowned every time she brought him up, like she couldn't see the disapproval in their eyes.

It wasn't Grunkle Stan's fault. It wasn't.

She had to work that day. Her first summer job, and she was working at a crepe place in the Rockridge area of Oakland. It had been fine, but not the exciting step into adulthood that she hoped it would be. But her hours didn't start until the afternoon, so she stayed inside after her parents left for work, and she laid on the couch, their cat Cupcakes curled up on her stomach. She played with his feet. He was so old, now.

It had taken a long time to recover as much as she had. She still wasn't totally recovered. It felt alien to look at all the drawings she'd done when she was little, all the fairy princesses and unicorn fairy princesses and endless drawings of boy bands. She hadn't drawn for the first year, after. It had been hard. She'd gotten better, though; she still thought about Dipper every day, of course she did, but it didn't break her anymore, the knowledge that they never found the body and that they would never really know what happened to him. That had been exhausting for a twelve year old girl to handle. So exhausting she'd blocked most of it from her memory; she remembered crying until she could barely breathe, until she passed out. She didn't remember very much else from that summer at all.

It had been a normal summer for them, too, up until they'd realized Dipper was gone. Working in Grunkle Stan's shop. Mabel, teasing Dipper about his crush on Wendy. Getting into trouble with Wendy's friends. What little Mabel remembered was classic, the most basic summer vacation a person could ask for; then Dipper had disappeared into the woods and never come back.

They told Mabel they'd searched for days. She couldn't remember. All she could remember was panic and tears. Dipper was her brother, her twin, her constant companion. All she'd wanted at the time was for Dipper to be back.

At the end of the summer, the search had been canceled. Her parents had driven up to take her back personally. She remembered fighting them, trying to cling to Grunkle Stan, because in her head somehow he had been the only one who really understood.

It didn't matter, though. They'd taken her back home, they'd held the funeral, and she had to try to figure out how to keep getting out of bed every day when her twin's empty bed sat across the room as a grim reminder that she was alone.

She learned, at first, to hide it for her parents. It was hard to remember how she'd been before, but she put on the big empty grin a year after his death, trying to cheer them up. She threw herself back into her eighties phase, all neon colors and retro cartoons, and it was a good way to draw the attention away from how hollow she was. She collected stickers with twice the fervor, sang karaoke with friends because it was something to do, and she did her best to keep herself busy. There was even a phase for a while where she'd gotten cheap secondhand plush animals and sewn them together to make hideous chimeras that she gave away as presents. The busier she was, the less time she had to focus on her missing half.

It got easier as time went on. Little by little she started enjoying things again, though it took years. She realized it one night when she was fourteen, at her friend's birthday party - she had sung an entire song in karaoke and had actually _enjoyed_ it. She actually started caring about her grades again, at least in part because she know Dipper would have wanted her to care. She started to be a little less empty inside.

There were still bad days. Days where she didn't want to be around anyone. There was a night not too long ago where she ran away in the middle of the night, drove into San Francisco in the old car she'd inherited from her dad, and walked around ocean beach until the sun came up and she realized she'd be stuck in rush hour traffic. And even five years hadn't dulled the pain of the day that Dipper had been declared dead. But there were good days, too. Having a job helped. She was supposed to be saving money for when she went to college, but there was a part of her that wanted to go back and visit Grunkle Stan. Even if visiting Gravity Falls alone scared her, she missed her Grunkle, and he sounded lonely in his letters.

After a good hour of moping and playing with Cupcakes' paws, Mabel dragged herself off the couch. She had to change into work clothes. She made it upstairs just in time to hear her cell phone, left charging on her bedside table, finish ringing.

She stepped over, picking up the phone and unlocking it. The missed call was from an Oregon number, and she frowned at it for the half moment before her voicemail notification pinged. Thumbing over to the voicemail menu, Mabel wondered if maybe Grunkle Stan had finally gotten a cell phone, or if it was just a telemarketer.

Her question was answered as soon as she brought the phone to her ear; Grunkle Stan's voice played, and even though she hadn't heard his voice since last year when he'd called on her birthday, there was something about the rough tone that was soothing. "What? Voicemail? What the… alright, fine. Hey, kiddo. I finally got one of those cell phones Soos has been badgering me about, and I figured, knowing what day it was… well, I just wanted to check up on you. I've been...thinking about some things, and, well." There was a long pause. Mabel expected something else, something more. Instead, there was just a heavy sigh. "Be safe, kid."

That was it. The voicemail ended. Mabel pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it sternly, like that would make the voicemail make more sense. It didn't, of course. For a moment, she considered calling Grunkle Stan back, but a quick glance at the time made her change her mind. If she didn't get ready to go now, she'd be late for her shift, and if she was going to talk to Grunkle Stan she didn't want it to be rushed.

A soft meow drew her attention, and Mabel glanced down as Cupcakes started twining between her ankles. "Yeah," she said, leaning down to scratch underneath his chin. "These days are always weird, aren't they, buddy?"

Cupcakes gave a heavy mrow, wandering over to Dipper's bed. Mabel let him. It made her feel a little more hollow, but, hey. No one else was using it.

She got changed quick, shoved her phone and wallet - both covered in puffy stickers - into her pockets, and went downstairs to fight with her inherited car. She made it to work without the car stalling, which was good, and she clocked in on time. If any of her coworkers noticed that her smile wasn't as big as it was normally, or that her peppiness was on the low end, none of them mentioned it.

She clocked in just before the lunch rush, and today, lunch was very much a rush. She and the other waitresses went as fast as they could, taking orders and delivering food and beverages to tables, but only years of practice kept the smile on Mabel's face. Everything else was exhausting. Not in a physically tiring way, but a soul-sucking, retail-worker sort of way. They ran out of soymilk to make lattes with halfway through lunch, and Mabel had to endure with a cheerful grin as six different people scowled like she'd ruined their entire day and ordered ' _black coffee if that's the ONLY vegan coffee you have'._ Partway through, Mabel switched herself to autopilot; even though she was taking down orders and waiting on tables, she focused on different animal combinations, like a snake and a badger becoming a snadger, or a bird and a wombat combining to become a wombird. Right after the lunch rush died down, she doodled her favorite on a napkin - the giraffican, half giraffe and half pelican. She resolved to find some plush animals that she could take apart to create the giraffican, when she had time in the future.

It may have been frustrating - any customer service job was frustrating - but by the end of the day, Mabel was thankful for it. There had been too much to do. She hadn't had any time to stop and think, and that was what she needed; constant, intense, mind-numbing work. She stayed a little over, just to help clean up. She was sure her manager would talk to her about it the next day, but she didn't care. She'd had four triple shot zebra mochas during her shift and her brain felt a little bit like it was vibrating, and the cleaning needed to get done.

Her shift had only been eight hours, and the amount of caffeine and sugar in her body should have kept her going for a long time. The jittery, overcaffeinated feeling stuck with her as she was driving home, and Mabel indulged in some road ragey name-calling when she got stuck behind someone going five miles under the speed limit, their turn signal stuck on for three whole blocks before they actually turned down a side street. Aside from that, she got home without incident, and completely bypassed her parents, going up to her room.

She kicked off her shoes, and she pulled her phone out of her pocket, flopping onto her bed. She had ten smiling cell phone puffy stickers stuck to her phone case, and they all stared at her expectantly. She should probably call her Grunkle Stan back, but now that she'd hit the bed, all of the energy went out of her.

"I'm sorry, cell phone friends," she said, sinking deeper into her bed. She felt Cupcakes jump onto the bed, and then climb onto her lower back, purring softly. "I'll call him back tomorrow, I promise."

It would just be a nap. A tiny little nap, and then she'd get up and brush the thick coating of sugar and espresso off of her teeth, and the next day she'd call Grunkle Stan and they'd commiserate over Dipper.

Mabel shut her eyes, and she fell asleep.

* * *

 _It's a coming of age ritual. She has to go through it. Capturing and training her own kittycorn was imperative, otherwise she would never be seen as a grown woman. This, however, was easier said than done; all she has is a grappling hook, and the kittycorn roost is at the very top of the cliffs of certain doom._

 _Mabel grits her teeth, gathering all of her determination. She makes sure the grappling hook is strapped to her hip, and she starts to climb, hand over foot, up the sheer cliffs. It's tough going. The rocks bite into her hands, and finding toeholds is difficult. Halfway up, a feathered snake slithers out of a hole in the cliffs and spreads its wings, hissing at her. She bats it away, and it falls down the cliff._

 _She keeps going, no matter what, until she gets to the overhang at the top of the cliffs. This is it, this is the place. She pulls out her grappling hook, aiming for the lip of the overhang where one lone, ancient tree hangs. She aims, and she fires, and by some miracle the grappling hook catches the tree. She gives a few experimental tugs on the rope, and when she's certain it's caught, she swings off of the cliff. She has to wait for the rope to steady itself, and then she climbs up, climbing into the branches of the tree. She's so close that she can hear the purring of the kittycorns._

 _Mabel pauses to take a few deep breaths. This is the moment. If she can wrangle the golden kittycorn, then not only will she prove herself a woman, she will ascend to royalty. If she's quick…_

 _She climbs up the tree, onto the ledge, and rolls out onto the kittycorn roost._

 _Only, in that moment, everything flickers. The grass changes. It's shorter, now, and in the distance instead of roosts there are trees. Evergreens, reaching to the sky. The sky is a flat gray. She stares at it for a moment, a creeping feeling slithering down her spine._

 _The sky flickers again as she stares at it. Like clouds parting the gray moves to the sides, but what's behind them isn't any more comforting. It's stars, but too bright, too intense. She grew up in the city, her night sky was handfuls of tiny stars peeking through clouds burnt orange by light pollution. This night sky is so thickly detailed that she can see other galaxies far away, eddying, whirling, burning away._

 _Then those stars start falling._

 _It's just one or two, at first. Sparks wafting away in the breeze, they slip away and disappear. Then bigger ones. A flash and a streak across the sky, and they're gone. Mabel wants to move, but when she tries she feels like her feet are rooted to the spot. A wind starts to rise, whipping her hair away from her. She can't look away as all the stars fall from the sky, streaks and flashes of light too bright to look away from. They go, in twos and threes, and then fives and tens, until the sky has no more stars but pinstripes of blazing glory that vanish near as quick as they begin._

 _The wind keeps rising, too, until even the evergreens that hadn't been there before are waving with it. Her hair is caught in the wind, her clothes too, and suddenly as the last stars tear away from the sky the wind becomes too much. Her feet aren't rooted to the ground anymore, and she's blown away, head over heels._

 _As the gust knocks her over the edge of the cliff, she hears a voice screaming after her._

WHERE ARE YOU, SHOOTING STAR?


	2. In which Grunkle Stan tries to text

_**A/N:** Wow, sorry guys! I don't know why the first upload went all funky, but here's the decoded version. My bad! Thanks for your patience! _

Mabel woke up by falling out of bed and landing face-first in the carpet.

The room was dark, and her heart was thundering, breath coming in short gasps. She sat up slowly, the words from her dream echoing in her head. Something about it, that phrase, _Shooting Star…_

Mabel took a couple of deep breaths, crossing her legs as she sat on the floor. This was her room. She was home, and she was safe. It wasn't even that bad a nightmare. She'd had worse. Far worse.

She reached up onto her bed, after a moment, scrabbling for her phone. When she switched the screen on the light blazed, and she winced, squinting at the time. It was nearly two in the morning.

With a little groan, she stood up. She hadn't even brushed her teeth before passing out. Actually… she glanced down and groaned again, louder this time. She hadn't even taken off her shoes.

Using the light of her phone, Mabel trudged downstairs. She wanted water, and she needed to brush her teeth.

She made her way in the darkness, half by muscle memory. She'd snuck downstairs so many times in her life that she knew exactly where the floors creaked if you stepped on them, and where all the tables and chairs were - her mom hadn't rearranged the house in years. Mabel, on the other hand, had changed her side of the room six times in the past year. She always left Dipper's side alone. Always, except to dust.

Grumbling to herself, she reached the kitchen, turning on the lights and going through the cupboards to retrieve a glass. Still feeling a little unsteady from the dream, she got ice from the ice dispenser, and slowly filled the cup with water. As she waited for the cup to fill, she glanced over the things magneted to the fridge. There were at least three takeout menus, and loads of old family photos. Things from family reunions, pictures from christmases with everyone in sweaters that Mabel had knit. A couple of christmas cards from cousins, all sitting awkwardly in front of the wavy blue backdrop of a photo studio. Mabel had always frowned on photo studio portraits; she could make better backdrops herself, and had, many times in the past.

Her gaze drifted down, catching on the corner of a photograph that had been obscured by one of the takeout menus. She moved brushed aside the takeout menu, then sucked in a sharp breath.

It was an old picture. Five years old, she remembered it. Two little kids standing in front of a Speedy Beaver bus station, arms around each other's shoulders, both with grins so wide it looked like it hurt. Her and Dipper, right before they left for Gravity Falls. But what held her attention was the sweater she wore in that old picture. It had been too hot for a sweater that day, but she'd insisted on wearing it anyways. It had been one of her favorites, for a little while.

Bright pink, with a shooting star streaking across the front.

Cold water ran over her fingers, and Mabel jumped, letting out a little squeak. She'd overfilled the glass while she'd been staring, and with her jump she spilled even more, the water splattering across the kitchen linoleum.

If it had been any other time, she would've groaned. Right now, though, her pulse was beating in her throat, and she didn't know why.

"It's just a sweater," she mumbled to herself, setting down the too-full glass on the counter. She reached for the paper towels, ripping off a handful and kneeling down to wipe the water off the floor. From out of the hallway, Cupcakes came trotting in, just in time to stare with wide eyes as Mabel mopped up her spill.

"Just a sweater, and just a stupid dream." Mabel threw the paper towels into the trash can, then paused, staring down at Cupcakes. "I mean, why wouldn't I dream about shooting stars? Shooting stars are great!" She threw her arms out, turning and wandering across the kitchen. Cupcakes made a noise that sounded like _mrrow_ and followed. "Plus today - or I guess yesterday - was the anniversary, so maybe I just remembered the sweater and had a weird dream! That's not that strange. Everyone has weird dreams!"

Mabel stood. It didn't ring right, even as she said it. She was the queen of weird dreams. Even in the beginning there had been cat unicorns, big enough to ride. That was the kind of strange dream she had. Not this, not shooting stars. She frowned at the air, frustrated, and she started to tap her fingers on the countertop.

An idea flickered into her head. A silly idea, but an idea nonetheless. She fished her phone out of her pocket, finding the number from the voicemail Grunkle Stan had left earlier. After a moment of pondering, she opened up a new text; that way, if he was asleep, maybe she wouldn't wake him.

 _Grunkle Stan, do you remember what sweater I was wearing when I came to Gravity Falls?_

She hit send, and immediately put her phone down on the counter. It was a stupid idea. She didn't even know if Grunkle Stan could figure out how to text. He might end up spending the next two days trying to figure out why a little notification had popped up.

Mabel finally indulged in a good loud groan, and she went for her mom's secret chocolate stash hidden in the cupboard over the sink. All of this weird feeling called for the sweet, sweet release of sugar and endorphins.

She was kneeling on the counter, staring into the cupboard over the sink and glowering at a Milky Way bar when the text tone for her phone went off. She jumped for the second time that night, wobbling precariously on the counter before grasping the edge of the cupboard to steady herself. She passed up the Milky Way bar - it was too star-related for her tastes right now - and grabbed one of those expensive European chocolate bars that her mom occasionally bought instead.

Clambering down from the counter, Mabel tore open the chocolate bar, stuck it in her mouth, and then grabbed her phone. It couldn't be Grunkle Stan, she reasoned, it was two in the morning; probably one of her friends.

But the little notification on her phone screen was that Oregon phone number. And the text that had come from that number was nearly illegible. If somebody had taught Grunkle Stan how to text - and it was probably Soos and Wendy, if anybody - they had forgotten to tell him where to find punctuation.

 _y do u sk and w hat r u dogin up so l8_

Mabel stared at it for a while, trying to parse...whatever the heck that was. The novelty of having her Grunkle text her was immediately dashed by the mash of letters on her screen.

She took the time to finish her chocolate bar while she decoded Grunkle Stan's message, and then she replied, thumbs flying over the virtual keyboard of her phone.

 _What am I doing up late?! What are you doing up late! You have a store to run!_

She paused, considering sidetracking herself and asking about Waddles. But the idea of having to wade through more of Grunkle Stan's texting made her shudder.

 _I had a weird dream. About shooting stars._

She hit send, and she stood there waiting. Cupcakes rubbed up against her ankles again, then flopped over on her feet, purring like a freight train.

She had just started to tap her fingers on the counter impatiently when she got the first text. It was one and a half words total.

 _thsts eir_

A moment later, another followed, only slightly more legible.

 _thats weird r u tlking abt the pink sweter with the star rainbo_

Mabel started typing once more. Her fingers hesitated over the buttons as a question popped into her head. It was a long shot. She couldn't remember getting any nicknames over the summer she'd been in Gravity Falls, but she also couldn't remember most of the summer. Not in very good detail. Maybe…

 _Yeah. Did anyone ever call me that? Shooting Star, I mean. Like as a nickname._

It wasn't particularly cold in the kitchen, but she shivered a little when she hit send anyways. The pressure and warmth of Cupcakes on her feet was only slightly soothing. She bent down, picking up the cat and cuddling him close to her chest as she walked from the kitchen into the darkened living room. She didn't bother to turn on a light, flopping down onto the couch as she waited for Grunkle Stan's response. Cupcakes shifted, curling up on Mabel's chest and stretching out a paw to rest squarely on Mabel's chin.

Another text never came. She waited and waited, until the soft rumble of Cupcakes' purr started to lull Mabel to sleep.

Right as she let her eyes drift shut, her phone rang.

It was loud, and both she and Cupcakes jumped. Cupcakes jumped with claws, though, and it took everything Mabel had not to shout as Cupcakes used Mabel as a springboard to launch across the room. If she shouted, she'd wake up her parents, and then she'd have to explain why Grunkle Stan was calling her at two in the morning.

She scrabbled for the phone, answering it as quick as she possibly could, if only to silence the ringing.

"Hello?" Her Grunkle's voice came through, tinny and rough. "Hello? Is this thing on?"

"Yes, Grunkle Stan, I can hear you," Mabel said, and she hissed a little as she rubbed the spots where Cupcakes had dug her claws in. That was going to hurt in the morning. "What's up?"

"Ah, I can't type too good on this tiny keyboard," Grunkle Stan grumbled. "My fingers are too big for it. What, did they make this thing for babies? Anyhow. How ya doing, kid?"

"I'm okay," Mabel said, smiling a little in spite of herself. Her parents never got it, why she wanted to keep talking to Grunkle Stan. In their eyes, he'd become a failure as soon as Dipper had vanished under Stan's supervision. But Mabel trusted him completely. If she could be herself around anyone anymore, it was probably Grunkle Stan. "I mean, a little weirded out by the nightmare…"

"Nightmare? I thought you said it was a dream," Stan said.

Mabel shrugged, even though Grunkle Stan couldn't see it. "I don't know, it wasn't really a _nightmare_ nightmare. It was just freaky. All the stars fell out of the sky and a voice called me _shooting star._ "

Grunkle Stan went silent on the other end of the line for a moment. He huffed a sigh. "And that's why you think it mighta been some kind of nickname?"

Hearing somebody else say it, it sounded silly. "Yeah," Mabel said, voice small. She cleared her throat and continued on. "It's just, since it was the anniversary… anyhow, it sounds familiar! I just can't think of who might've called me that."

Stan grunted. "Not Soos's style. Maybe Wendy?"

Mabel smiled again. She loved Stan a little more for just going with the idea. He could've argued that it was a stupid dream, like she'd been telling herself all night, but he didn't. He was the best Grunkle. "I don't think so, 'cuz she hasn't called me that any of the times I called to talk to Waddles."

"Pig's doin' great, by the way," Stan said. "Soos keeps feeding him when I'm not around. If anything, this pig needs to lose weight. ...Oof. _I_ need to lose weight."

"You could start jogging together," Mabel suggested. "you could get matching sweatbands!"

The noise that Grunkle Stan made it clear he wanted to avoid going any further down that avenue of discussion. "So if it ain't Wendy and it ain't Soos… I dunno, maybe… Lazy Susan?"

That was grasping at straws. Mabel twisted her lips, thinking back to the time that she'd tried to help Grunkle Stan land a date with Lazy Susan. That was the most time she'd spent with the woman, and it didn't ring a bell. "I don't think so," she said, after a moment of thought.

"I hate to say it, kid, but do you think it might've been Gideon?"

That sent a completely different type of shudder down Mabel's spine; one of disgust. "Eugh," she said. It was a fair question, Gideon had come up with a lot of nicknames for her when he'd been crushing on her. She hoped it had died down from as crazy as it had been. She didn't know if it did or not. Grunkle Stan had long since stopped telling her if he got letters from Gideon for her.

"Yeah, I know," Stan said. "Still, the little punk was…inventive."

Mabel considered it for a moment. She tried to remember what little she could about that summer. Gideon had come up with a lot of nicknames, but the only ones she could remember were related to food. Marshmallow, peach dumpling, nothing about stars.

"Not Gideon," she said firmly. She might not remember who had said it, but that at least she was certain of.

Stan grunted again. "Good. Little creep. Well, look, kid, I know the question might be stuck in your head right now, but you should get some rest. Don't you have your summer job?"

Mabel sat bolt upright. She did have another shift. An opening shift. She pulled the phone away from her face just long enough to check the time, and she winced. "Aw, darn it!"

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Stan lamented. "I'll think about it and get back to you tomorrow, how's about that?"

"Okay, okay," Mabel said. "I'll go to bed. _If_ you do too."

Grunkle Stan gave an indistinct grumble before saying real words. "Soos is opening the shack anyways," he muttered. Then, a moment later, "ah, _fine_ , okay. I'll sleep too. Hit the hay, kid."

"I'll hit it so hard it'll forget it's hay," Mabel said. "Goodnight, Grunkle Stan."

"Goodnight, Mabel. Sleep well."


End file.
